Mother said, “’Twould appear Gerald is here, but not Loretta. That truck is his. His wife drives a black Lexus and is likely at church.”
We exited the C-Max, then approached an entrance next to the closed roll-up door of a garage used for loading and unloading merchandise.
Finding the back entrance unlocked, we stepped into a large cement-floored, high-beamed room. A bank of high windows along the back wall provided the only source of light but was enough to reveal an array of packing materials—cardboard boxes of various sizes and reams of bubble wrap. In the center of the room was a long metal table with other mailing supplies—tape, labels, a scale—and a half dozen or so boxes that were sealed, stacked, and ready for shipping to Internet customers.
Mother was already moving toward the swinging double doors that led into the main area of the business.
I followed.
It was even darker in here, with no windows at all, and after a few steps, we froze. I tried using my little key-ring light, but it had finally run out of juice.
“See if you can locate a switch, dear,” Mother said.
I felt around on the nearby wall but found nothing.
“I have a flashlight on my phone,” I said.
“Good! Where is your cell?”
“In the car.”
“Retrieve it then.”
“Battery’s dead. Do you have a flash on your phone?”
“I’m afraid not. You know, I really should upgrade my Jitterbug to a smartphone.” Mother shrugged. “Never mind, dear. We’ll go toward the light.”
That sounded a little ominous, but she was referring to the front of the building, where a light emanating from the office was the only illumination at all in the vast space.
But as I began to move forward, Mother held me back. “Dear, let us exercise caution. I believe Gerald is something of a gun enthusiast. It may prove prudent if we were to make our presence known, so we’re not mistaken for miscreants.”
“Anything that keeps us from getting shot at is my kind of prudent.”
I expected Mother to holler Gerald’s name a couple of times, but instead, she began to sing loudly “The Stars and Stripes Forever.” Well, at least he would know we were patriotic miscreants.
Whenever she does something this embarrassing, I’ve found the only thing to do is join her. Only I sang the lyrics I’d learned at Girl Scout Camp:
Be kind to your web-footed friends,
For a duck may be somebody’s mother.
Be kind to your friends in the swamp,
Where the weather is very, very damp.
(I pronounced “damp” in the British manner, of course.)
With this clash of lyrics, Mother stopped singing and turned to me. “Must you be so contrary?”
“You wanted Gerald to hear us, didn’t you?”
“I’m sure he did,” she huffed. “And he may very well shoot us, anyway!”
I moved out ahead of her, along an aisle of antiques, where in the darkness something as mundane as a wooden coat tree looked threatening, its spools like skeletal branches reaching out. A prim Victorian doll’s sweet smile took on an evil cast, her glass eyes appearing to follow me as I passed, while a large stuffed toy lion looked ready to pounce.
I’d been in my share of spook houses in my day, but somehow none compared to this corridor of terror, and I couldn’t wait to get out. I picked up my pace, then suddenly stumbled and went flat on my face.
Chagrined, I rolled over. There was just enough light filtering in from the still-distant office that I could see what I’d tripped over: the body of a man. He lay on his back, face glistening with blood.
I did not scream. I might have screamed, but I didn’t. It was more of a yelp. Then I scooted back from him on my butt. Mother, always less squeamish, bent over the fallen figure.
“Is it . . . Mr. Klein?” I asked.
“It seems to be. In this darkness, it’s hard to be sure. . . .”
She dropped to her knees, reached for a limp hand and, after a moment, said, “He still has a pulse.”
She already had her cell phone out, calling 911, when I asked, “What should I do?”
“Get the ceiling lights on, dear, and see that the front door is open.”
Now on my feet, I hurried up the aisle.
At the main entrance, I propped the door of a thousand notices open with one of the smaller nearby stoneware pots, then unbolted the main door and propped it open with a metal stand of brochures. On the main-entrance wall, I found a panel of switches and began flicking them on, one at a time, until every section of the store was lit up.
While waiting for the first responders to arrive, I went into the office, where I found the room ransacked—desk drawers pulled out, file cabinets emptied, papers scattered on the floor. Much the way Mother and I had found Camilla’s back room.
Out at the checkout counter, in the newly illuminated space, I made an interesting discovery: the register had money in it, quite a bit, in fact, probably the starter cash for the day’s business.
So this was a very specific robbery by a most specific miscreant.
Hearing sirens announcing themselves faintly, I headed back to the front doors, the scream of official vehicles growing in volume with my every step.
The paramedics were the first to arrive, two men quickly getting out of the emergency vehicle, its lights bathing the entrance with alternating blue and red. As they entered with their equipment, I said, “Middle aisle, halfway down,” then yelled back to Mother, “Paramedics are here!”
Her faint reply, “Follow my voice,” came back.
And then she . . . Oh, I just can’t write what Mother did next. I just can’t. You pick: (a) met the paramedics at the mouth of the aisle and calmly walked them to Gerald; (b) kept yelling, “Follow my voice,” ever louder; or (c) once again sang “Stars and Stripes” at the top of her lungs. Hint: Not (a).
A police car arrived, adding its flashing lights to the mix. Mia was at the wheel, her squad car kicking up gravel as it came to an abrupt halt next to the emergency vehicle. Following Mia was Officer Munson in another squad car.
When the two officers entered, I quickly filled them in, and for once Mia gave me no attitude. Then, after they hurried on, I went to the checkout counter to stay out of the way.
After a few minutes Mother joined me, having been shooed away from the crime scene. Her calm manner was at odds with the blood smears on the front of her coat.
“How is Mr. Klein?” I asked.
She tsk-tsked. “It’ll be touch and go, dear. He’s been pretty thoroughly thrashed.”
I told her the office had been ransacked, but that the cash register was flush.
“Interesting,” she said. “So our intruder wasn’t after money.”
“Apparently not,” I said. “But what was he or she after? This place is full of valuable antiques, but the entire focus was on the front office.”
Mia emerged from the mouth of the center aisle, approached us, then positioned herself before Mother.
“Mrs. Borne, when you arrived? Were there any other cars in the lot?”
Mother glared at the officer. “Is that two questions or one?”
“What?”
“Good Lord!” Mother’s eyes went up to the rafters, as if God alone might understand. “First the youngsters, then the Greatest Generation, and now those who protect and serve! Is there no end to this abominable affectation?”
Mia’s eyes went to me, large but frowning. “Is she all right?”
“She has a thing about uptalking,” I said.
“What is uptalking?”
“Skip it. Look, Mr. Klein’s van was the only vehicle here when we arrived.”
The officer nodded. “When was that? That you arrived?”
Mother moaned.
“About ten thirty,” I said.
“And you were here because?” She was directing her questions to me now.
I said, “We wanted to talk to h
im before the store opened at eleven.”
“Talk to him about what?”
“Antiques, naturally,” Mother said brusquely.
Mia studied her for a moment, then asked us both, “Do you know where Mrs. Klein is?”
“Loretta is most likely at church service. New Hope,” Mother told her. “We’re members. Would you like us to go out there and bring her here or to the hospital?”
Mia’s eyes were half-lidded now. “No.”
“It’s no trouble,” Mother pressed, a little too eagerly. I knew very well that she wanted to question Mrs. Klein before the police had their chance.
“No,” Mia repeated firmly. “Officer Munson will see to getting Mrs. Klein.”
Mother added an inch to her height and peered down her nose, crossing her eyes a little to do so. “Very well, dear, but perhaps you’re unaware that Loretta has a heart condition. Having a policeman show up at church service, looking for her, might well send the poor woman back into a-fib, necessitating another cardioversion procedure—which is no picnic, let me tell you!”
Mia’s sigh was a long one. “I’ll advise Officer Munson to exercise discretion.”
“See that you do,” Mother huffed. “Loretta’s health, perhaps her very life, will be in his hands. Come, Brandy—that is, if you have no further questions, Officer?”
Just a tinge of uptalking from Mother there.
“You’re quite finished here,” Mia said, then raised a warning forefinger. “And, Vivian, don’t even think about going to the hospital.... Hold it!”
We had started heading in the direction we’d come.
“Out the front way,” Mia snapped, pointing in that direction.
“But our car’s in back,” I protested.
“I want to make sure you two leave?” she said. “I want to see you go?”
Mother groaned.
But we reversed our steps, and as we went past the officer, Mother sniffed, “The suggestion that we can’t be trusted is wholly unwarranted.”
Which garnered only a grunt from Mia. And it did sound a little like a question....
Outside, in the cold, we lingered long enough to watch the paramedics roll Mr. Klein—swaddled in a blanket, wearing a neck brace and an oxygen mask—on a gurney to their vehicle.
I turned to Mother. “Does Mrs. Klein have a heart condition?”
“It’s possible. Can you say otherwise?”
“Let’s go,” I sighed.
We made the snowy trudge along the side of the building to the back, our teeth chattering by the time we climbed into the C-Max.
I started the engine, then backed up and slowly pulled away, Gerald’s panel truck looking a little forlorn in my rearview mirror.
“Next stop,” Mother said, nodding straight ahead, “the hospital.”
I put on the brakes.
“Mother, you heard Mia,” I reminded her. “Uptalker or not, she’s a duly appointed representative of the law. You know, a cop? We’ll get thrown out on our prying behinds—if not by the police, then the hospital staff.”
After all, Mother was persona non grata at Serenity General. Her various antics, both as patient and visitor, were notorious topics of conversation from the lowest orderly to the highest administrator, and every doctor and nurse in between.
“Besides,” I went on, “it’s really beyond the pale to question Mrs. Klein, as upset as she’ll be.”
“That’s the best time to question her, dear.”
“How so?”
She shrugged. “It’s self-evident, isn’t it? The woman will be at her most vulnerable.”
When I shook my head at her crassness, Mother responded, “Dear, whether we’re beyond the pale or not is beside the point. One person is dead, and another is at death’s door. This is hardly the time to worry about someone’s feelings. Now, drive on. Mush!”
As we came around the front of the auction house, the ambulance was just pulling out onto the two-lane highway, heading for the bypass, siren wailing and lights flashing. Following the paramedics was Officer Munson, presumably dispatched to collect Mrs. Klein, which left Mia behind to assist the forensics team.
At the mouth of the driveway, I’d just paused to check for traffic when a 1970s green Volkswagen van swung in and stopped alongside our C-Max.
Dexter Klein rolled down his window, and I powered down mine.
He leaned out, his face tight with concern. “Hey, did I see an ambulance just pulling out of here?”
I nodded. “Someone attacked Mr. Klein before the store opened. We happened upon him.”
Dexter’s concern turned to alarm. “Is he all right?”
“I don’t know. He was pretty badly beaten. You should probably go out to the hospital.”
“Oh, my God.”
He put the van into reverse, backed out onto the highway, then sped off without another word.
Sped off in the opposite direction of the bypass and hospital, that is.
“That’s a little . . . odd,” I said.
“Everyone reacts differently to bad news,” Mother philosophized. “Onward, dear!”
The hospital was two miles south, just off the bypass, a modern facility with exceptional care, if lousy cafeteria food (excepting the pies).
To avoid detection, Mother suggested we go in through a service entrance, which we did. She then led the way through a labyrinth of hallways before stopping at a door marked STAFF ONLY.
“Here’s where they keep the uniforms,” she whispered. “I think scrubs with little booties and caps would give us the best cover, don’t you?”
“You can’t be serious.”
But she was.
I turned and left her there.
* * *
Vivian here.
After that rat Brandy abandoned me like a sinking ship—which, frankly, was just as well, as I doubted her acting chops were up to the job of impersonating a member of the medical profession—I ducked inside the uniform closet.
After locating on a middle shelf a suitable shirt and pair of pants (an unflattering shade of green, not in my personal color chart, but one puts on the costume a role requires), I put the uniform on over my slacks and blouse. Then I slipped the booties over my shoes and donned the shower-type hat, pulling it down jauntily low.
I exited, then traversed the corridors leading to the ER without being stopped and questioned. If you live a role, the public accepts you. Apparently, the professionals, too.
Along the way I added some nice props to my costume: a stethoscope to hang around my neck, a doctor’s clipboard to tuck under my arm (seemed Mr. Fusselman’s temperature had returned to normal after his gallbladder operation), and a bedpan (clean) to fill my hands. Perfecto!
The ER waiting area had recently been reconfigured into two sections: one large room for those whose loved ones were not in a life-threatening condition, and another made up of several small rooms for those needing privacy due to some more serious situation.
So when I found Loretta in one of the small rooms, I knew at once that Gerald could not be in good shape.
Loretta, wearing her Sunday best, her face puffy, was alone, seated in a chair by an end table arrayed with ancient magazines. As I entered in my disguise, she looked at me with a mixture of hope and dread, anticipating news I might be delivering regarding her husband’s condition.
I had to remove my cap before she recognized me.
“Yoo-hoo,” I said and winked.
“Vivian?” she asked, confused. “What . . . ? Why on earth are you dressed like that?”
I settled into the chair next to her and balanced the clipboard on the bedpan on my lap. “Sorry, my dear. This was the only way I could be assured of getting past the staff to see you.”
“You could get in trouble, couldn’t you, for this?”
“A small price to pay for being of help to you. How is Gerald?”
Loretta drew in a quivering breath. “He’s in a coma. They’re running a CAT scan now.”
I nodded. “To see if he has head trauma or, heaven forbid, brain damage.”
That caused some tears to flow, and she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. A medical man or woman can’t pull any punches.
“Are you aware,” I asked, “that Brandy and I found Gerald?”
“Yes, and I thank you for that. You may have saved his life. If he had been lying there much longer, well . . .”
“It was indeed fortunate that we came along.”
Having gotten the niceties out of the way, I said, “Dear, we noticed that your office had been thoroughly tossed.”
“Some damn thief looking for money, probably,” she responded.
“That was my original thought . . . until Brandy told me there was quite a bit of cash in the register.”
She frowned. “Is that right?”
“I believe the ‘damn thief’ was looking for something other than money.”
“Such as?” A slight irritation crept into her voice.
“I thought you might tell me.”
She shrugged. “Well, I don’t know what that would be. And right now I don’t care about the motive. Gerald is my main concern.”
I backpedaled. “Of course, dear. I quite understand. But the sooner we investigate this crime, the better.”
She goggled at me. “We? What? You and that daughter of yours? The police are already investigating. You need to stay out of this and let them do their job. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to be left alone.”
I patted her knee. “Certainly, dear. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
I gathered my bedpan and clipboard and stood. “Oh, by the by, do you know what happened to the picture frame Camilla bought the afternoon she died? It seems to have disappeared from her shop.”
She whitened. “How does that frame have anything to do with this?”
“I thought perhaps you might have an insight to share.” I sat back down. “Wasn’t that frame sold for far less than it was worth?”
“How do you know that . . . ?”
“My daughter thought she might have seen Camilla switching price tags with another, presumably less expensive item.”
Her eyes flared. “And she said nothing?”
I shrugged. “Brandy didn’t feel she could risk another altercation with Camilla.”
Antiques Frame Page 15
